


Something Growing

by gotsnolegs



Series: Honesty [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Consensual, F/M, Lemon, NSFW, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6825721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotsnolegs/pseuds/gotsnolegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is growing between Bulma and Vegeta, and he isn't sure how he feels about it; but he is awfully curious about how her body might feel against his.</p><p>A prequel of sorts to "Honesty", this fic describes in greater detail the way Bulma and Vegeta's relationship formed. Smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Growing

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I tried to write a smut fic and it turned into the angsty piece "Honesty"? Here's the smut I was going for. Don't get too excited.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or any of the characters associated with the manga, anime, or movies.

SOMETHING GROWING

 

Things had changed between them ever since he had told her how frustrated he was. She had caught him in a rare moment of weakness one evening as he sat on the balcony, looking up with uncharacteristic wistfulness at where the moon should be, his phantom tail curling and uncurling around his waist, wondering if he would ever ascend to a Super Saiyan. Perhaps she was more observant than he gave her credit for, because he was sure his face had given nothing away and yet she knew that something was bothering him. Of course, the fact that she asked him about it did not obligate him to tell her but, surprising himself, he did. The truth had fallen from his mouth before he could stop it and her attentive expression had prompted him to continue. By the time they each retired to bed that night, they’d formed a tentative camaraderie. Vegeta felt wary.

So far, this newfound solidarity had been working out well for him. By working with Bulma, who seemed eager to help, she had made great advancements in the technology she built for him. And, somehow, he didn’t feel weaker for having shared his greatest weakness with her.

But his openness with her frightened him the night he told her all about Planet Vegeta. He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke about his home – perhaps he never had – and he was amazed at how easily he could recall what he thought were forgotten memories. He tumbled head-first into his own nostalgia, sharing details with her that she was not worthy to hear, but feeling somehow lighter the more that he spoke. She didn’t interrupt him, and it wasn’t until he finally paused that she asked him if he missed it. Suddenly, he became aware that he had said too much. He pressed his lips together, irritated with himself, scared of how easily he had shared his past with her, and felt a weight press on his chest.

She didn’t press him for an answer, but took the opportunity to share with him memories of her own childhood. He wanted to be annoyed by her incessant rambling, but instead he was captivated by her adventures, awed by how carefree her childhood had been, and amused by the antics she and her friends had gotten into. Her friends were such a motley crew of fools that it amazed him that they had gotten this far in life – except for Bulma, of course, who was brilliant and resourceful and determined enough to get out of any situation she found herself in.

When Bulma spoke of her friends, she spoke of people who helped and supported one another, who accepted each other, who shared things with one another. Vegeta began to wonder, uncertainly, as he listened to her stories and she listened to his without judgment, if this was what it was like to have a friend. It made him feel nauseated.

Yes, Vegeta felt afraid of how willing he was to share these tidbits of himself with her, but his fear didn’t seem to stop him, because he continued to seek her out just to be in her company: sometimes on the pretense of working on some new tech, sometimes on the pretense of complaining about something, sometimes just sitting nearby in silence. And sometimes, he caught her watching him intently.

Something was growing between them. He could feel it, this sense of contentment when she was around, his comfort in talking with her, his willingness to listen to her ideas, a twisting in his stomach when her eyes met his.

It happened in the kitchen one evening. He had just finished up a late post-dinner snack and was dumping his dishes into the dishwasher. He made no effort to be quiet, not caring if he was heard but also assuming that in the vastness of this house he wouldn’t be anyway, when she appeared in the doorway. She smiled at him, the kind of smile that reached her eyes and made him feel relaxed. How did she manage to do that?

“Still hungry?” she asked, but he shook his head. He was just leaving.

“That’s too bad,” she continued, and stepped towards him.

She had been close to him before: she’d helped him when he’d been hurt in his training; she’d taken his measurements for his new training suit she was working on; they’d bumped into each other in passing; she’d leaned over him to show him new features on the gravity console. Somehow, this was different.

She paused less than an arm’s length from him and waited. Waited for what? Vegeta wasn’t sure what she wanted. All he knew was that his palms were growing sweaty and his heart rate was increasing. Why? He was a warrior, for god’s sake. An elite soldier. This tiny, weak woman didn’t stand a chance against him, but his adrenaline was pumping. Her eyes bore into his: the bluest blue he’d ever seen, the same vibrant blue as the sky on this planet, and just as clear.

She closed the distance between them and pressed against his chest.

 _No_.

He wanted to push her away. He wanted to leave. He wanted to impart a scathing remark about his status as a prince versus hers as a lowly human. He wanted to bury his hands in her hair and feel what those curls would be like in his fingers.

Her lips lifted into a smile as she peered up at him. He wasn’t much taller than her, and her gaze was nearly even with his, and he could feel her light breath against his face as she breathed. Slowly, she reached out and placed a hand on his chest, over his heart, and he was certain she could feel it hammering away. She slid her hand up to his shoulder, and then carefully around to the back of his neck, before gently rubbing at his hair. She leaned further into him.

He stood rigid, nervous. Her meaning, now, was clear, and she was obviously crazy. He could break her in an instant. He could see her veins through her skin, delicate creature that she was. It would take nothing to crush the life from her. Not that he was planning on doing that, not now. Once, he would have done it without so much as a second thought if he wasn’t so dependent on her hospitality on this pathetic planet, but now he just wanted to know if her skin felt as soft as it looked. So soft, in fact, that it could bruise if he so much as bumped into her wrong. He was afraid to touch her.

Which was completely backwards. She should be afraid to touch him. He had killed millions, destroyed planets, brutishly and barbarically enslaved entire civilizations. He had relished the kill. He would, still, relish the kill, and he intended to once he got his hands on Kakarot. And yet she was running her fingers through his hair, fearless, her other hand now resting lightly on his shoulder.

He had never met anyone like her.

He watched her, silently, stiffly, trying to anticipate her next move. He wondered for a moment if she would give up this game if he continued to do nothing; he dismissed that thought. Bulma did not give up easily, and he was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that he would not be able to continue to do nothing.

Her lips came next. They touched against his so delicately he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it at first. But then she pressed closer and her kiss deepened and he was struck by how soft her lips were for being able to throw out such stinging insults. His head tilted downwards of its own accord. He was kissing her back.

She let her hand slip from his shoulder and she found his own hand, fisted awkwardly at his side, and gently pried it open. She slipped her fingers between his for a moment, before moving his hand and placing it lightly on her hip. It made no sense to him that she would want him to touch her with the same hands that slaughtered innocents, that she trusted that he wouldn’t do the same to her. She unthreaded her fingers, leaving his hand where she’d put it, and reached back up to run her hand lightly over his chest.

He felt her tongue against his lips, running across them lightly, and he parted his mouth to better fit hers. He was surprised when her tongue darted inside, touching his own tongue, and his grip tightened on her hip. He was more surprised by how much he enjoyed the feeling of her tongue against his, and he pushed his forward to better feel hers. He could feel her smile against him when he did.

And they stood like that for a while, kissing in the kitchen, Vegeta’s back pushed against the counter in a way that became uncomfortable but that he ignored. He didn’t realize that his hand had shifted from her hip to the small of her back and that his other hand was resting on her waist until she shifted her weight and his hands rubbed across her body. She moved her lips off of his and he felt an unexpected wave of disappointment, only to feel her trail her mouth across his jaw, towards his ear.

“Let’s go,” she said.

She pulled back slightly, and his hands immediately fell to his sides. She smiled at him and took his hand in hers again, raising her fingers to kiss them lightly, before taking a step away and pulling him along with her.

Vegeta’s mouth was dry as she led him upstairs. He was momentarily surprised when she pushed open the door to her bedroom, although he wasn’t sure why. What other room would they be going to? He had been in her room a few times before, but the disorganized clutter had never so accurately resembled how he felt until now.

She pulled him to the bed, only letting him go when she sat down on the edge. He stood in front of her, hesitant, unsure, and watched as her smile grew.

“Come here,” she said. When he continued to stand uncomfortably by the bed, she took his hand again and steered him onto the bed beside her.

He sank into the mattress, feet firmly planted on the floor, suddenly certain that this was all a cruel joke. She turned towards him, this time her hands quickly finding their old holds in his hair and on his shoulder, her mouth meeting his in a hard kiss devoid of the slow gentleness she had granted him downstairs. When she realized his resistance, she paused to look at him.

“You don’t want to?” she asked. When he said nothing she continued, “We don’t have to.”

She started to let go of him, and he realized that he wanted nothing more in that moment than to have her hands all over him and put his all over hers. He leaned towards her, his hand finding the place at the back of her neck where hers had just been on hers. He kissed her and slid his fingers into her hair. The curls he had longed to feel were soft and loose, frizzing a little in places after a long day. It felt like clouds against his fingers, so different from his own coarse hair.

Immediately her hands went back to him and she was using her weight to push him down onto the bed. He let himself fall and she came down with him, her body almost completely on top of his.

The atmosphere changed. What had started slowly, delicately, hesitantly in the kitchen became faster, rougher, eager. Her fingers were grabbing at the hem of his shirt, tugging it up his torso. He helped her pull it over his head and felt her lips across his chest, down his stomach before he even had it completely off. The feeling of her mouth trailing hot kisses across his body made his body stiffen and relax in ways he didn’t expect.

She sat up suddenly and pulled her own shirt off, her hair tangling as she did so, and tossed it carelessly on the floor. She crashed back onto him and placed a kiss between his neck and shoulder blade, and then bit down hard. A gasp, more from surprise than pain, escaped Vegeta’s lips before he could stop it, and his hands grabbed her waist roughly. He rolled them over so they were both on their sides, but Bulma’s mouth didn’t leave his neck. She began to suck where she’d bitten him, and he was taken aback by how much he enjoyed the feeling.

He pressed his own lips to her neck, nipping and licking and kissing, and Bulma released his skin to mutter, “Don’t give me a hickey where anyone can see it.”

So that was what they called that on this planet.

“You can give one to me, but I can’t do the same to you?” he asked as he continued to run his mouth across her neck, down her throat, along her clavicle.

“Nobody will know yours is a hickey. Just do it where nobody will see,” she said, and he noticed that her breath was becoming heavier.

So he dipped his head lower, to the top of her breasts, just above her bra, and bit down. She let out a small cry, her head tilting back, and he quickly let go, kissing and licking the spot instead. When she followed up her noise with a low groan, he realized the pain hadn’t bothered her. He bit her again, mimicking her actions this time by sucking, and she exhaled loudly.

He tugged on the front of her bra, the part that rested between her breasts, but it didn’t slip off the way he’d expected. He tugged again, harder, and he heard her chuckle. He let her breast slip from his mouth as he frowned at her, and as she began to reach behind her back, and gave a good yank and felt the bra tear from her body.

“Hey!” she said, but her protest died in her throat as his mouth found her nipple. He licked and sucked and nibbled gently, listening as she began to pant.

Her fingers slipped into the waistband of his pants and he felt suddenly tense. He had been swelling since the moment she’d pushed him onto the bed and he was certain she’d be able to tell. Stretching her hand further down, he stiffened as her fingers grazed his cock, and then gripped him tightly. She tugged on him a couple times, and he let her nipple go free to take in a deep breath.

“You can get harder than that for me,” she said lowly into his ear, and she shifted so she was sitting upright. Letting him go, she tugged his pants down and he watched as his stiffening dick sprang into the open. She dropped his pants on the floor as carelessly as she had her shirt, and swatted his legs apart to perch between them.

She paused for a moment to take him in. He was completely naked now and she let her eyes roam over his body shamelessly. Vegeta had never been insecure about how he looked – frankly, he had never thought much about it, his appearance having little to do with a fight – but the way she looked at him made his groin tighten. He looked at her own naked chest and wanted to put his mouth back on her breasts. He reached out to take her by the arms and pull her back down to him, but she grinned widely and pulled out of his reach, before lowering her face to his thighs and placing heated kisses between his legs.

He moaned lowly as her hair brushed across his balls, more stimulating than he ever could have imagined, and Bulma looked at him from under lowered lashes and smiled again.

“Ready?” she asked, and then took him in her mouth.

The sudden sensation took him by surprise, and he moaned again, his hips rising of their own volition to slide himself further down her throat. She jerked her head upwards and tried not to cough as she placed her hands on his hips, trying to keep him in place. He realized he had caught her off-guard and tried to stay still. As her head bobbed up and down, her tongue licking him and her lips stroking him, he found it increasingly difficult to stay still. She sucked up the length of him before letting him fall from her mouth and taking him in her hand instead. Holding him still, she ran her tongue along the tip, tasting the wetness he didn’t realize was building there. Her other hand traced along his balls. Then she slid her mouth down him again, taking in as much of him as she could. He realized that now he was the one panting.

He felt his pleasure building when she stopped to take her own pants off. Sensually, she slid her body across his to place her lips on his, and he could taste a saltiness on her mouth that he could only assume was his own. Rolling off of him onto her side, she grabbed his hand and guided it towards her own centre.

He shifted, raising himself up so he was propped up on an elbow and leaned down to run his tongue across her nipple while he ran his fingers along her, trying to find her spot. She shifted her hips to help him, and after a couple moments she froze, a deep groan filling the room.

“There,” she said, and her voice was hoarse.

He rubbed her gently, tracing light circles around her, while his tongue continued to run along her breasts. He could feel his fingers growing damp with her wetness when she suddenly commanded, “Harder.”

He applied more pressure and was awarded with another groan, louder this time, and took her nipple between his lips and tugged. She gasped, and her fingers grabbed his wrist and gripped tightly. Her other hand found his cock and she rubbed him up and down, keeping him hard and ready. His mouth worked its way up her chest to her lips, and her kiss was hungry.

“Now,” she said finally, turning her face away from him. “I need you now.”

Vegeta let his breath escape. When was the last time someone had needed him? Had anyone ever needed him? He paused under the magnitude of this revelation, that this woman could believe she needed him.

“ _Now_ ,” she pressed, pulling on his shoulders to move him on top of her.

He didn’t need any more prompting. He was ready. He positioned himself at her opening and, watching her face, eased himself in with more self-control and delicacy than he thought he was capable of. Her eyes closed and she sighed as she took him in. He waited for a moment then, watching her, before carefully beginning to slide out and then back in. Her hips rose and fell in time with his.

She felt so fucking warm.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss him. He met her lips without breaking his easy stride, and he shifted his weight onto one arm so his other hand could grab at her breast. When his thumb brushed across her hardened nipple, he felt her sigh against his mouth.

“Harder,” she said then, repeating her command from earlier. He increased his pace fractionally, and she frowned at him. “I’m not a china doll, I won’t break. _Go harder_!”

And so he pushed into her, hard and deep, and elicited a throaty moan. He pulled back, and pumped back into her again. Her hips crashed against his as her eyes closed and her lips pulled upwards into a smile.

She could break so easily, but she wanted all of him – needed him – and wanted it hard. He had never met anyone like her before.

Her gasps and moans came faster and louder now, and he watched as the flush deepened on her cheeks. He let go of her breast and reared his body back so he was upright, and pulled her hips into his lap. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her. She let out a high-pitched whine and her hips began to lose his rhythm. She was close, and he gripped her hips tightly to keep her centred. Her noises became louder, more desperate, and Vegeta felt his own control slipping.

With a final cry, her entire body bucked, and her core tightened around him as he felt a sudden rush of wetness envelope him. He maintained his pace, their bodies making a sucking sound where they were joined as some of her orgasm dripped out around his dick. As she came down from her pleasure, her groans became quieter, and she looked at him with half-lidded eyes. She ran her tongue across her lips.

He watched her breasts bounce as he pounded into her, and felt his balls tighten as he came to his own release. His toes curled involuntarily and he let out a grunt of his own as his cock twitched before he spilled inside her. He pumped a few more times, slower now, as he emptied himself, before his fingers fell from her hips and he slumped down, letting himself rest on top of her.

Bulma’s fingers threaded into his hair and she pressed gentle kisses into his temple and cheek. They were covered in a light sweat that made Vegeta feel suddenly chilled, and it was only a couple moments before he lifted his weight off her and slid out. She let out a small noise as he left her, her hips tensing for a moment before she relaxed again. He rolled off the bed and padded noiselessly to the bathroom.

He was wiping himself off with a damp cloth when Bulma joined him. She trailed her hand across his back as she passed him, before she unexpectedly sat on the toilet. Vegeta was startled by her shameless comfort with her own body, almost affronted that she didn’t have the decency to wait until he was finished in the bathroom before deciding to pee, and he awkwardly turned away from her to stare at the wall.

“I have to pee if I don’t want to get an infection,” she said matter-of-factly. “You don’t have to make it weird.”

“That’s disgusting.”

She offered him a snarky grin. “Is this bodily fluid somehow more personal than the one that just dripped all over your dick?”

The affronted look on Vegeta’s face made her laugh, and she leaned her head in her hand, her elbow resting on her bare thigh. “You can pee in front of me any time,” she offered.

With an irritated sound, he tossed the cloth into the shower, not bothering to hang it up, and stomped back into the bedroom. He began gathering his scattered clothes, tugging them on.

She rejoined him just a few moments later. “You’re leaving?” she asked quietly.

He paused to consider her. “Why?”

She shrugged. “I thought maybe you’d stay here tonight. But you don’t have to.” She sidled up to him, her bare breasts brushing against his arm. “But if you do, there might be more fun to be had.”

Something was growing between them. Vegeta wasn’t sure what it was. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to promote it. He didn’t like how comfortable she was with him, how little he minded how casually she treated him, how much he shared with her. He didn’t like how little it bothered him that he had shared so much with her – memories, feelings, ideas, himself. But he wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair, now a frizzy mess, and press his lips to hers, and somehow this seemed like the best idea yet.


End file.
